


Parades

by LokianaWinchester



Series: Jesus Christ Superstar [36]
Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, This is angsty because of who I am as a person, jcs 2000, projecting onto judas for a change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-25 23:46:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17734940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokianaWinchester/pseuds/LokianaWinchester
Summary: The title is really bad but I'm running out of ideas.Anyway,, this is partly about my feelings about Jesus, which I project onto Judas, and largely about Jerome Pradon's and Glenn Carter's acting choices.





	Parades

**Author's Note:**

> The last scene is the one before last supper where you see Judas take a swig from that bottle and you know it's gonna go to shit.

It was ridiculous.

This whole parade was ridiculous. And by that, Judas did not only mean the literal parade he was forced to witness – Hosanna, they were singing, what a joke; he also meant the parade that had become their lives. Or Jesus’ life more specifically.

Judas refused to believe that Jesus was in any way related to God; sure, there was a God and Jesus most certainly was right about the things he was preaching and teaching, but Judas saw no necessary correlation between those points.

He seemed to be the only one left to think so.

Judas never would have guessed how truly frustrating it could be to simply be around the man he admired. Every second he spent in Jesus’ presence, Judas could go through the roof, could explode with all the feelings he had to keep inside because he could never let them out with everybody around.

And Jesus was never quite alone enough for Judas to let go off those feelings and confess.

He wanted to tell Jesus everything; not the criticism, not his sceptic views of Jesus’ ways. No, Judas was aching to tell Jesus just how much he still adored him, how much he looked up to him and admired him; how much he loved him.

He had never told him that.

Judas had never had the guts to tell Jesus that last one, because he had realised too late. Back in those days when the two of them would be sitting together for hours, uninterrupted by another soul, talking about heaven and earth and everything in between, back in those days Judas had somehow, unbelievably, remained ignorant to his own feelings.

When he finally did realise he was in love with Jesus, it only came to him through jealousy. No mere friend would be so inexplicably jealous at seeing Jesus with other people, with women, most of whom seemed so beneath Jesus.

Nobody else would feel this rage, this burning hot spike of jealousy paired with long-suppressed desire coursing through them. And thus, Judas realised his biggest mistake: He had paid too much attention to Jesus and all his problems and faults, that Judas had forgotten about himself.

The moment he saw those blond locks, a cold hand seemed to close around Judas’ heart. When he looked into Jesus’ eyes, their deep blue colour rich enough to drown in, Judas wanted to never look away, knowing that in this ocean of emotions, Jesus was the siren he would fall prey to.

But when Judas really thought about it, his desire was more fundamental than all this. Judas wanted to touch. Judas wanted to run his fingers through Jesus’ hair, wrap it around them, pull Jesus closer. Judas wanted to feel Jesus’ stubble under his lips, wanted to feel Jesus’ skin under his fingertips. Judas wanted to entwine their fingers, to kiss along the curve of Jesus’ neck, to hold Jesus in his arms.

All he wanted was to get back that trusting side of Jesus that had vanished just like the time they spent together.

But these times had passed and the harder Judas tried to get Jesus to listen to him, the more he seemed to push him away. Because that was the essence of his being; he wanted Jesus’ attention, lived off it. And the further he was separated from Jesus, the more people squeezed themselves between them, made it harder for Judas to get to Jesus. That was what he really wanted and not in order to speak to him, or even touch him, but for Jesus to _see_ him again.

For Jesus to talk to him again, assure Judas that he had not strayed too far from their path, tell Judas that he was still there for him. He wanted Jesus to make him feel useful. But most of all, he wanted Jesus to touch him.

Even if the price to pay was never being allowed to touch Jesus again, Judas would still pay it, if it meant Jesus would touch _him_ instead. What he would give to have him reach out, to have Jesus run a hand through his hair, to have Jesus initiate a kiss. What it would mean to have Jesus there, their fingers entwined, eyes locked with the knowledge of reciprocated feelings. It was impossible to imagine how it would feel to close his eyes, to not move and then to feel Jesus’ lips ghosting against his own in the barest shadow of a kiss.

‘If only,’ Judas’ brain occasionally reminded him. ‘If only you had taken that chance.’

Because Judas had had a chance. Way back when he had been oblivious to his feelings even though he was already hopelessly obsessed with Jesus.

He had had a chance, in the dead of night, under the most beautiful starry night anybody could imagine. He had had the chance, because the way Jesus had looked at him had been anything but platonic. The way his fingers had traced patterns on the back of Judas’ hand could not be interpreted as anything close to disinterest, no matter how hard Judas tried now, in order to make it hurt less.

Judas had had a chance. But he had not taken it.

He was drunk now, his head feeling fuzzy, the world looking soft. But Judas knew it to be hard and unforgiving.

The parade had not ended well; when had anything ever ended well, he asked himself miserably.

His trip to the high priests was a haze, Judas barely remembered, but the sick feeling in his stomach, the burning in his throat and the dried tears on his cheeks told him all he needed to know.

Judas had made the biggest mistake of his life.

He dreaded what was to come. Every second of it, but nothing more than the judgement of his friends when they would come to supper and find him like this, money heavy in his pocket, too heavy for Judas to ever get up again.

Judas swallowed around his tears.

He was drunk now and so he realised too late that Jesus was approaching him. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cold stone column.

“Judas,” Jesus said and Judas felt his defences crack.

He did not reply.

“You went?”

Of course Jesus knew. Of course; he probably knew better than Judas.

“I’m sorry,” Judas pressed out between clenched teeth.

When he lifted his head and opened his eyes, Jesus was closer than he would have thought, extending a hand to Judas.

His touch was hot, burning his skin, but cleansing. His touch was divine, more intense than Judas would have expected, even after all this time yearning for it.

“No,” Jesus said. “ _I_ am sorry.”

He leaned in and Judas had no time to react before their lips met. He gasped inelegantly, before he brought a hand up to drive into Jesus’ hair. His other clenched around the cold bottle.

Jesus’ kiss was intense, lips parting, allowing them to deepen it, allowing Judas to showcase a fraction of all the emotions he held inside.

When Jesus pulled away, Judas kept his eyes closed.

“I’m sorry,” Jesus repeated and for the first time Judas understood what they all meant when they saw God in this man.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I watched or wrote about jcs 2000 but here I am and I really enjoyed it! Kudos and comments are welcome as always <3


End file.
